Cold As Ice
by EvangelineLongbottom
Summary: Florean Fortescue has been kidnapped by Death Eaters. But what information could an ice cream man have to tempt the Dark Lord? Some minor violence because Voldemort likes the Cruciatus Curse. Written for Ollivander's Challenge at simplypotterheads., but I missed the deadline.


****A/N: This fic was written for the Ollivander's Challenge at .com. The prompt was "Florean Fortescue". I missed the deadline by like 2 hours but I wanted to post this anyway, although I didn't get to edit it much. It's a lot darker than my usual stuff, but I hope you enjoy.

**Cold As Ice**

He is cold. Colder than winter, colder than ice, colder even than the time he was accidentally locked in the ice cream freezer when he was a child. He remembers that his father found him in a matter of minutes, but that April afternoon is still the coldest he has ever been. Until now.

Florean knows there is no one coming to free him from the icebox this time.

He is sprawled face down on the stone floor, his arms twisted painfully behind his back, held there by a thick length of rope that chafes the skin on his wrists. In the beginning, he struggled, but the pain and fear have driven any remaining energy from his battered body. He is alone, for now.

All he did was refuse to sell them ice cream.

His business had been declining steadily ever since He Who Must Not Be Named had made his return. No one felt safe leaving their homes anymore, and especially not for something as trivial as ice-cream. Florean understood, of course. If his sons were still children, he wouldn't want them wandering around Diagon Alley either. Still, it had been with a heavy heart that he'd hung up the Closed sign for the last time that afternoon. Florean Fortescue is proud to come from a long line of ice-cream makers, and he loves making people happy. No one has much time for happiness these days, though.

Florean's bruises ache again as he remembers the three strange men who came to his door that last day. He reflects now that he always knew they meant danger. He just hadn't wanted to believe that the Death Eaters would come to his shop in broad daylight. "We're closed," he murmurs to himself, reliving the horror in his mind. "Closed, we're closed, please!" He hears again the sound of breaking glass, the door of the ice cream parlor shattering to let the Dark wizards in. The sharp pieces fly everywhere, he can feel again the way they struck his face, the warm blood running down. One of the men, large, menacing and hairy, had leapt through the now-empty doorframe and seized Florean. He can still feel the putrid breath on his neck, hear the soft, hungry growl ripping from the monstrous man's throat. "Greyback, control yourself!" snapped the thin one with the long gray hair. "The Dark Lord wants him alive."

They had ransacked his shop, then moved upstairs to his flat. With a shock of fury, Florean had realized just what they must be after. He had thrashed and fought and tried to scream, had done his best to protect his mother's secret, but the wolflike man called Greyback had hit him sharply on the top of the head and he knew no more. He has only just come to, shivering on the dank dungeon floor. Even now, he has no idea if his attackers found what they were looking for, if he has failed his beloved mother.

The creak of the heavy wooden door brings Florean slamming back into reality. The Death Eaters, come to kill him? He rolls over, straining his eyes to see what new horror is coming for him. At first there is nothing, only shadow, and then… Pale white and almost glowing, the most awful, evil, inhuman face leers out of the darkness mere inches away. Eerily tall, thin, and robed in a black even darker than the dungeon itself, with a vicious grin and glinting red slits for eyes, Lord Voldemort gazes down at him. Florean opens his mouth to scream, but- "Silencio!" the Dark Lord hisses, pointing a bone-white wand at the prone man's throat and the shout dies before it's begun. The high, cold voice promises mercy, if the ice-cream man gives him what he wants. With a flick of his wand, Florean's voice is restored and he spits one word. "Never!"

A bare, bony white foot shoots out of the ebony robe and kicks Florean hard in the jaw. "Don't play dumb with me, you insolent fool! I know you have what I need. Tell me where it is!"

And despite the pain blooming in his face, Florean feels a surge of manic joy. They didn't find it after all. His mother's spell book is safe- for now. He spits out the blood that has been pooling in his mouth and grins up at You Know Who. "You'll never find it." Florean knows the stories. They say Lord Voldemort can read minds, that he always knows when you're lying to him. It's a good thing his mother never told him where she kept the book. Still, Florean banishes the memories from his head. He does not think of the family legend, his great great great many times great grandmother burned at the stake, the ancient magic she awakened having fallen into wicked hands. He doesn't think about the Peverell man who wooed her and stole the spell that fateful night, doesn't think of the wand that he must have enchanted-

"FORTESCUE! You know where it is, I know you know! TELL ME!" shrieks the Dark Lord, but Florean is silent, grinning maniacally still. "_Crucio_!"

All that he knows is pain. There is no shop, no ice cream, no dungeon and no biting chill. There is only pain and more pain, agony like fire within his very heart. His mind is wiped blank, his body thrashes with the intensity of the curse. Then, just as quickly as it hit, the pain slips away, leaving him panting on the flagstones.

And then he knows that he will never see his shop again, never taste the creamy sweet relief of ice cream on a summer day. He will never return to Diagon Alley, never make excited eleven-year-olds smile and laugh after a long day of shopping for school. He remembers the boy with the lightning scar, licking his dark chocolate raspberry ice cream cone and scribbling out an essay, his messy black hair falling into his eyes. Even then the boy had seemed to hold the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Florean had been happy to give him free sundaes and help him with his homework, never mentioning exactly why he knew so much about medieval witch burnings. That boy was going to do extraordinary things, Florean always knew it. He feels a rush of hope and a new resolve not to allow He Who Must Not Be Named to gain his secrets.

And then the world is only pain again, and Florean's every nerve screams in protest as the Dark Lord laughs and laughs. When at last the curse ends again, Florean relishes the coolness of the ground against his cheek. The cold of ice cream, he reflects, is like this, a momentary reprieve from the summer heat. Cold is a feeling the ice cream man knows well. The glacial cellar, though, holds a different kind of freezing, a cold so complete that any warmth seems like nothing more than a faraway dream. He can almost see his breath, wispy and grey at his lips.

He finds himself back in the air-conditioned ice cream parlor, his hands frozen from scooping the icy treats over and over, like clockwork. He smiles. Ice cream makes everyone smile. He feels a surge of light and heat.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"


End file.
